In The Light Of Telperion
by Morithil
Summary: Focusing on Boromir's relationship with a sword maiden he encounters in Rivendell, and the thoughts and relationships of and between the other members of the Fellowship in their last few days in the House of Elrond. COMPLETED-please r&r!
1. Chapter 1

In The Light of Telperion

_"The one had leaves of dark green that beneath were as shining silver, and from each of his countless flowers a dew of silver light was ever falling...Telperion was the elder of the trees...the white glimmer of a silver dawn"._

_ -Of the Beginning of Days, The Silmarillion_

_"..seated a little apart was a man with a fair and noble face... proud and stern of glance. "He is Boromir, a man from the South" " ._

_ - The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring_

It was quiet in Rivendell. Beyond the distant flow of the waterfalls and the soft rustling of the leaves there was an unearthly, and yet soothing quiet. The members of the Fellowship were at ease, biding their time to give the Ringbearer a fair chance at healing from his Morgul-blade wound. Though his injury was still relatively fresh, Frodo was becoming stronger by the day, and it was hoped that soon he would be strong enough to begin the perilous journey into Mordor.

But in Rivendell, thoughts of the impending dangers were far from the minds of the Fellowship. Rest and peace were predominant as they enjoyed the calm of the gardens surrounding the house of Elrond Peredhil. The Elven-lord had retired to his quarters for the afternoon, still a little weary from his efforts in healing the young hobbit. His guests had Rivendell to themselves, to enjoy as much as they pleased until it was time to leave.

Legolas sat perched in the large, smooth branches of a tall tree, gazing at the rushing falls, their liquid melodies like music to his ears. He did not know why, but the sound of the water always drew him towards the falls. He could not explain this; having grown up in the forests of Mirkwood and relishing the quiet woods yet being so drawn towards the waters. He sighed pleasantly. His wrists felt odd without his archer's bracers, and his back curiously light, having been relieved of his quiver and bow. He glanced back towards the gardens, and smiled as he saw the tall figure of Aragorn striding across the quiet lawns. The Ranger's walk was slightly hesitant, as if he too was struggling to get used to walking without the weight of his long sword slung at his hip. Legolas turned back to the falls and closed his eyes, drinking in the sound of the rushing flow.

Aragorn approached a small arbor under a group of overhanging trees. He ducked to avoid the swaying branches, hung with small, round leaves. The figure sat on the bench looked up in surprise and mixed annoyance. Aragorn smiled briefly and tilted his head in respect.

"Boromir".

"Aragorn". The man returned the greeting but not the gesture. He sat, polishing the round surface of his shield with a methodical air, the domed centre flickering the dying rays of sunlight.

Aragorn noticed the look of worry on Boromir's face, though to others the man's face was almost unreadable.

"Rest, Boromir. Enjoy the peace of Elrond's gardens. The Ringbearer is not yet fully healed, and you should take time to wander on such a idyllic day, as there are hardships ahead".

Boromir looked up proudly.

"It is because there are hardships ahead, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, that I do not rest".

Aragorn sighed knowingly. He had not expected the man of Gondor to heed his suggestion, but nevertheless he left with a passing comment.

"You should at least walk through the gardens today, if only to stretch your legs. Shield polishing is hard work, and you seem to be in need of some repose from such chores, Son of Gondor", Aragorn remarked wryly before stalking off across the lawns in search of more sociable company.

Boromir snorted at this last comment. What did Aragorn think he was doing, telling him what he should be doing, anyway? He scrubbed the shield with greater energy. Rangers.

And yet that was a pleasant thought, to wander without destination through the cool and dappled shade of Rivendell, if only for a few minutes. Resting his shield against the bench, Boromir stole out quickly from under the arbor, checking to see if Aragorn was watching. Across the lawn near to the house he espied the Ranger lying on his back, arms behind his head, his eyes fixed on the sky.

Boromir walked off into the copse of trees, following the winding paths drawn by nature deeper into the trees. He grudgingly relaxed as the cool breezes fanned his warm face, and his normally grim features unwound until his good but proud face was set in a likeable expression of wonder as he took in the ambience of his surroundings, the branches of the trees swaying to a loose rhythm, showering the grass with coins of light.

Boromir closed his eyes momentarily, yielding to the lull of the leaves' rustling, thinking of the white tower of his home, the city of Gondor, resplendent in the sunrise and sunset of each day. The White City. He was indeed far from home, and it made his heart feel sick to think of the distance. He longed to return home, where he felt continually called.

A sudden noise in the undergrowth startled him and he emerged from his reverie, his hand reaching for the short sword that he knew wasn't there.

As his eyes adjusted themselves to the light again, a slender figure came into view, a silhouette against the powerful light behind it.

A gentle yet firm voice brushed off his defensive reaction.

"Be at peace, Son of Gondor, I am not here to attack you".

Boromir relaxed his hand and it fell to his side. He narrowed his eyes against the sun's glare. He was unable to pick out the features of his companion.

"Come out of the light", he commanded, curious in spite of himself.

The figure nodded assent and stepped forward into the shade of the overhanging tree that shadowed him. Boromir's eyes widened and he suddenly found himself momentarily speechless, his mouth forming words he did not know how to say.

The figure was a woman. Slender and beautiful, with long tresses of silky hair like the colour of silver, so light was its colour, so gemlike the tones in its multitude of strands. Her hair was drawn partly away from her face, leaving the remaining locks to flow like water over her shoulders. 

But it was her eyes that made him gasp. Deep and glittering, a shade of green to rival the leaves around them, dark and searching, like the jewels of a mine. If Boromir had been more learned in Elvish lore he would have compared their colour to the leaves of Telperion, the First of the Two Trees of Valinor. But as it stood, Boromir was only a man, and could only stand in awe. 

"Your words seem to have failed you, Son of Gondor", she remarked with a flickering smile on her beautiful face.

"I-I did not know there was another Elven maid dwelling in Rivendell", he haltingly apologised, cursing his clumsiness with uttering the simple sentence.

She laughed softly, a low, stirring sound that made him listen to it all the more intently.

"You call me an Elf, Captain?", she asked, brushing back a lock of hair swept forward by the breeze, "You have been away from home for too long, it seems".

As she tamed the unruly lock, Boromir noticed that her ears were not pointed as Elf ears were. She was not an Elf, not immortal. His heart skipped a beat at the recognition.

"You are a friend of-Lord Elrond?" The question sounded foolish the moment it left his lips, but he had to know.

She smiled slowly, and the sight of her warmed his heart, " Yes, I am a friend of the house of Elrond and of the Elves. I have lived among them for many years".

Boromir marvelled at this, for she seemed young and fair, untouched by the years that had hardened his own features and set his jaw in a serious and battle like grimace.

The woman smiled at his incomprehension, "Do not look so amazed, son of Gondor - my friendship with the Elven folk has won me the long years granted to them, though I am but mortal and will die a mortal death unlike my ageless brethren".

"An Elf-friend", Boromir muttered.

"Does it surprise you so to learn that there are men and women who live peacefully with Elves?"

"No, but I had thought that only Aragorn shared such a deep bond with the immortal folk".

Her eyes looked at him, almost penetrating his soul, her gaze was so piercing and honest. Boromir could hardly bear them looking into his own, wishing she would turn her attention elsewhere to prevent him from turning away first. Thankfully she did, turning her gaze to the ever moving canopy above them, admiring the pools of light that were revealed fleetingly by the branches.

Boromir gazed at her, taking in her slender form in her dark green gown, that was no competition for the green of her eyes. The sleeves of her gown tapered into wide strips of 

material that flowed with every movement. Her cloak was drawn about her shoulders with a 

silver brooch in the shape of a small flower that he did not know the name of. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in all his years of battle and roaming Middle-Earth, and yet she had the quietly brave stance of a seasoned warrior. He plucked up enough courage to address her again.

"You are a shield maiden, perhaps?"

She lowered her gaze to his again and her expression softened.

"No, not a shield-maiden of the Rohirrim am I... that is, not a _shield_ maiden". She grasped the end of her cloak and drew back one side revealing a long blade in a scabbard at her hip. Boromir was impressed at this and his face revealed his admiration. The blade was slightly curved and its handle glinted silver wrapped in dark leather ribbons.

"You wield a sword?" he exclaimed.

The woman smiled again, "Yes. Though Rivendell is not the place for such weapons of war, I seem to be unable to cope without its presence".

Boromir nodded in agreement, "The absence of my own weapon has not failed to affect me also".

She replaced the cloak, hiding the blade, looking about her at the now silent gardens. The scent of niphredel became apparent in the cool evening air.

"I should leave you to your thoughts, Son of Gondor. I have intruded on them enough, I think". She turned slowly and made as if to leave.

"Please-" Boromir blurted out, reaching a hand out as if he would fain stop her from walking away. She turned back to him and fixed him with her calm gaze.

Boromir was at a loss for words again. He struggled to excuse his unmanly outburst.

"I don't mean to prevent to you leaving, but-", he fumbled with his wrist bracer, "I fear I may not look upon you again".

She blinked slowly at the statement. Turning fully round to face him she tilted her face upwards to the evening light. The last rays of dimming sunlight caught in her lashes as she spoke.

"My name is Lasmenel", she said simply.

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor", he replied.

"Forgive me", she said laughingly, "I have neglected to speak of my lineage. I am Lasmenel, daughter of Edomir and Ithiluin...perhaps we shall meet again, Boromir, son of Denethor, and walk under the light of the trees ".

"Their light cannot match that of your eyes", Boromir muttered under his breath. Lasmenel stopped, mid step, at the comparison.

"My name comes from another light, son of Gondor", she said softly, and was gone, her shadow vanishing under the approaching twilight, her dark green robes melting into the woods.

Boromir sighed, a sound that was both wistful and longing, and that expelled all his pent up emotion in one drawn breath. Turning reluctantly on his heel, he stole one last glance at the place where Lasmenel had stood, and walked back to his quarters, his heart suddenly filled with a heaviness he knew would not be lightened until he next saw her, the sword maiden with the eyes of an immortal.

•••••••


	2. Chapter 2

Legolas walked slowly out onto the porch of the house of Elrond and leaned on one of the intricately carved posts, looking out across the beautiful landscape, bathed in the lilac glow of twilight. His keen dark eyes could pick out almost every blossom on each tree. He thought of his home in Mirkwood, a fair place blighted by the name given it by history. He noticed Aragorn walking purposefully back into the gardens, no doubt to see the Lady Arwen, he thought with a smile. The lives of Men were like blossoms, fair flowers that bloomed as swiftly as they died, their lifetimes a moment in his own. There was something Legolas would never comprehend fully of Men; their deaths. Being an Elf, and immortal, he could not fathom the endings of what seemed to him brief moments in the sun. Where did the souls of Men go after death? Did they abide in the halls of Mandos or vanish forever from the earth, leaving only fading memories in the minds of those they loved?

Legolas smiled ruefully at himself and his wandering thoughts. He was about to turn back to his bed when a step on the stair near where he stood signalled a presence.

"Boromir".

The man looked somewhat abashed after his slight confrontation with the Elf at the Council. He fumbled with the sleeve of his tunic before speaking.

"I apologise for my abruptness at the Council, Legolas, I did not know of Aragorn's identity then".

The fair Elf nodded his approval. Then, smiling amiably, he turned and leaned against the post to face the man.

"What is it you want, son of Gondor?"

Boromir looked sheepish, "How did you know I wanted to ask something?"

"You would not have waited until this evening to apologise if you had truly felt the need to do so, Boromir".

Boromir knew this was true. He decided to get straight to the point. He walked up the stairs to be level with the Elf. Sitting down in the chair opposite Legolas he clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward on his knees.

"What does the name Lasmenel mean?"

Legolas smiled broadly. A man showing curiosity in the meanings of Elven names was rare in Middle-Earth.

"Lasmenel?...It is a Sindarin name, meaning a leaf green haven, that is, of the stars". Legolas noticed that the rough translation seemed to be satisfactory, as Boromir nodded half to himself in a manner that suggested he should have known the meaning.

"Why this particular name, Boromir?" Legolas asked, half guessing the answer.

The man looked at his feet before answering, not quite meeting Legolas' look.

"I chanced upon a lady while walking in the gardens. Her name was Lasmenel", he admitted.

Legolas grinned.

"Was she so fair, Boromir, that words of apology now fall from your lips as easily as cries to rally troops?" he asked mischievously.

Boromir looked up at the tall Elf.

"She was fair beyond anything I have seen in Middle-Earth, Master Elf, with eyes that were as green as - nay, a deeper shade of green than all the trees in Rivendell".

The look of awe and enchantment in the man's face did not go unnoticed by Legolas. He unfolded his arms and walked slowly back into his quarters.

"She is Lasmenel, called Calengil, daughter of Edomir and Ithiluin, son of Gondor, and a sword maiden not to be trifled with. However-", and here the Elf paused at the doorway, "t'would seem you are not the only one in the house of Elrond that sleep has not beckoned".

With this, the tall Elf left Boromir, casting a pointed look out onto the lawns before retiring.

Boromir followed his gaze and saw, to his excitement, a slender figure walking slowly across the grass towards the rooms on the other side of the house. It was Lasmenel. He rose quickly from the chair and ran softly down to the grass to intercept her before she too retired to bed.

Running swiftly he caught up with her and fell into her stride, walking beside her in silence for some minutes before speaking. Her face was even more beautiful in the moonlight, if such a thing were possible, bringing out the glint in her dark green eyes.

"My lady".

She paused and looked at him, a smile fluttering on her lips. 

"My lord Boromir", she said half wryly, half expectantly, taking in his handsome face.

"I thought we would walk again through the gardens of Elrond".

Lasmenel smiled knowingly, "There is no light from the trees in the evening, Boromir".

"Then why should we not walk under the stars?".

Lasmenel nodded her assent and they turned back across the lawns, and entered the dense shadows of the trees. The night was still cool, and yet there was unrest in the air, it seemed to Lasmenel. Perhaps it was her imagination. Boromir walked a respectful distance behind her. She could feel his eyes on her and the sensation brought a wave of warmth to her face and fingertips. Shaking it off, she waited for him to catch up, signalling that he could walk level with her.

Boromir felt his breath quicken as Lasmenel gestured for him to approach. Striding up to her, they continued deeper into the woods. So absorbed in their thoughts were they that neither realised how close to the borders of Rivendell they were. Darkness fell, cloying and heady. Boromir felt his head spin as Lasmenel looked at him, the moonlight flickering over her captivating features. Likewise Lasmenel felt exposed under his wondering gaze, his handsome and proud face suddenly transformed into one of yearning and unfulfilment. He was beginning to understand the power that the Elves wielded in those they loved. Lasmenel half wanted to reach out and smooth the look of consternation on his face, wipe away the grim, battle hardened exterior and reveal the man underneath.

It was only when they reached the opposite shore of the protective waters of the ford surrounding Rivendell's border that they even realised that their feet were wet, and that they were in serious danger. 

Lasmenel gasped as she realised where they were, glancing around at the tall trees in front of them, which seemed ominous and threatening. Boromir, noticing that they had crossed the protective border, also grew wary.

A whispering sound made them both turn to the dark trees. Lasmenel drew her sword with one smooth, fluid movement, its blade glimmering as the moonlight wandered over the Elven runes engraved into the metal.

"What is it?" Boromir whispered.

"Something evil approaches", Lasmenel whispered back.

Another sound shattered the stillness. Boromir drew his short sword, wishing he had brought his shield with him. Lasmenel looked at him.

"You have your weapon".

"Its absence became too hard to bear", he replied darkly.

As if from nowhere, a black robed figure on a black steed crashed out from the undergrowth, wielding a dark blade and screeching unearthly cries that tore the night. Lasmenel cried out and leapt backwards, her sword Celebrith at the ready.

"A Nazgûl! " she cried part in fear and part in warning to Boromir. She knew that these were what pursued the Ringbearer. She knew the evil hidden under the black hood. The Black Rider wheeled his steed around the face her.

"Begone, foul wraith! Blight these fair lands with your presence no longer and return to your master to cower before his dark glare!"

Boromir stared agape at Lasmenel. A transformation had taken place over her. Her face was suddenly proud, fearless and fiercely beautiful as she looked upon her enemy, her sword clasped in both hands, the blade in a horizontal line before her face in defence. She looked fair and terrible all at once, and Boromir's heart smote him as he beheld her, shining like a star before the darkness of her foe.

He ran to her assistance. The Black Rider wheeled his foul steed round again, and struck at Lasmenel. Her blade rang out against his with the clarity of a bell as she fended off his crushing blows. 

"_We will have the Ringbearer, woman, for all your attempts to defend him"_, the hissing voice screeched.

"Not while the light of Telperion shines!" Lasmenel cried defiantly and swung at the Rider's arm.

The Rider was devious, however, and, rearing his steed up onto its hind legs. turned it's head to Lasmenel, who was knocked backwards trying to avoid the thundering hooves flailing wildly at her head. The Rider simultaneously delivered a pulverising blow with his sword that she bravely fended off as best she could before falling to the ground.

Boromir struck at the Rider's unprotected leg, drawing black blood from the evil flesh. The Rider screamed and turned to face him, slashing at his defenceless arm and at his face as Boromir defended himself. 

Suddenly, hearing the cries of another Rider from within the woods, the Ringwraith spun his steed around and rode off into the darkness, the hooves of his black steed thundering into the distance.

Boromir stood as if in a daze and then turned his attention to Lasmenel. She got up slowly from the hard ground and sheathed her sword.

"Are you hurt, my lady?"

She shook her head and motioned to cross the water. They ran swiftly across the flowing 

stream, and into the safety of the protected trees of Rivendell. They slowed to a walk, and proceeded back to the house in silence. Lasmenel lagged behind slightly, rubbing her left shoulder as if it aggravated her. They were some way into the gardens when Boromir noticed and halted.

"You arm is hurt, my lady".

Lasmenel smiled painfully and nodded. "It does not bleed".

Boromir walked to her and gently felt her upper arm and shoulder. Her arm had been torn out of the socket with the force of the Rider's blow. She was lucky it was not broken. He led her carefully over to the trunk of a nearby tree. She leant against it for support, her back to the smooth, cool bark.

"This will cause you pain for a moment", he said.

She nodded, her face calm and withdrew her hand from the injured arm. Boromir grasped her arm and shoulder firmly with his hands. He marvelled at the slender limb and the strength it held. Looking deep into Lasmenel's eyes he pushed the arm back into the socket with one forceful movement.

Lasmenel turned away and her face contorted into a grimace of pain. But she did not cry out, however much the motion hurt her. Boromir felt his admiration for her swell at her bravery.

She turned back to face him and rubbed her shoulder ruefully.

"I should have been wiser, more careful".

"You were facing a foe beyond your power, my lady, with the courage and skill of a seasoned warrior".

Lasmenel briefly frowned, "I should have turned back before we reached the border-this would never have happened".

Boromir defended her from her own criticism, "No, I was the one in the wrong, asking you to accompany me to walk under the stars. It is my fault you were hurt."

Lasmenel looked at him intensely.

"We are both to blame, then. Our minds were on other things".

Boromir half grinned, half blushed at the truth in her words. Did she know what he had been thinking while they had walked in silence? How he had longed to caress a strand of her hair, shining like silver in the moonlight, to bring a lock of it to his lips and pay it tribute? Boromir shuddered pleasantly at the thought. His had been a long and solitary journey to Rivendell.

Lasmenel looked down at the blossom strewn grass.

Boromir realised he was still standing inches from her, one arm leaning on the tree trunk as he stood over her. Lasmenel looked up at him again and he was ensnared in her gaze, in the light of her eyes.

Boromir placed his other hand on the other side of the trunk by her waist, hesitantly, but emboldened by her silence, the palms of his hands burning.

Lasmenel drew a hand up to his face and stroked his cheek. Boromir closed his eyes at the touch of her fingertips on his skin. 

"You are hurt".

Boromir opened his eyes. Lasmenel showed him her hand. The fingertips were smeared with blood. He hadn't even realised he was bleeding.

She slowly pulled a dark scarf of thin green material from her dress sleeve. Winding it around her hand she subtly wiped away the blood and cleaned the cut on his proud cheek. The look of concern in her face dared him to believe that she was beginning to feel for him as he did her. Lasmenel lowered her hand after finishing stanching the wound. Boromir intercepted the hand midway through its journey and clasped it in his. The movement shifted his balance and he leaned in closer to her. His hand released hers and dropped powerless to his side. 

Tentatively he lowered his head towards hers, hoping fervently that Lasmenel would let him. He paused, his mouth hovering uncertainly a fraction away from hers.

Lasmenel exhaled slowly, her breath breaching the gap between their lips. Boromir blinked in order to keep a grip on reality as the woods swam around him. Her mouth grazed his achingly slowly, a searing sensation flooding to his lips. Boromir gasped, his breath escaping in a shuddering breath. Never had a woman instilled such sweet torture in him through such a small gesture before. Lasmenel stroked his cheek again, drawing him in closer. He froze.

And then she turned away and began to walk out of the clearing. Boromir looked up as if he had just acknowledged her departure and reached out a pleading hand.

"Lasmenel, don't leave me again -"

She looked at him, her face a potent mixture of conflicting emotions. Afraid to reveal her true emotion she smiled a little sadly at Boromir, standing before her looking almost bereft, an emotion in sharp contrast to his normally morose face, his hand stretched out for her.

"I am sorry-I will escort you back to the house", he apologised, resuming his warrior stance and replacing the look of loss with one of responsibility and indifference. She inwardly sighed, recognising that he was unwilling to display this hidden side to himself for long.

Lasmenel retraced her steps back to him and, taking his hand in hers, wound the green scarf around his palm, securing it around his wrist, his tense muscles covered by the sheer material.

She pressed her hand to his chest, above his heart. He could feel it pounding wildly beneath her smooth palm. Lasmenel fixed his wavering eyes with her own searching green gaze, roaming his masculine face.

"I have seen the heart of the warrior this night, Boromir - I have yet to see the heart of the man".

With this epitaph she left him, floating away into the gardens like a fleeing spirit. 

Boromir stood motionless, and briefly fluttered his eyelids closed before setting his jaw in a stern line and returning to his quarters.


	3. Chapter 3

Gimli the dwarf shifted uneasily as the Elf approached the place where he sat, shielded by the relative cool of the rushing waterfall. The dwarf was not comfortable in Rivendell, surrounded on all sides by the unfamiliar trees and of course the company of the Elves. He grunted as Legolas sat down near him to gaze at the falls.

The sat in silence for some minutes. Gimli glanced irritably at the lanky form of the fair Elf as he sat, drinking in the cool air and spray from the rushing foam.

"Is it the custom among Elves to remain so aloof when they are in company?"

Legolas shifted his gaze to the small but stolid stature of the dwarf and a flicker of consternation showed across his youthful face.

"That depends on the company, Gimli son of Gloín", he replied pointedly.

"Humph!" the dwarf responded.

They simultaneously turned back to the falls. Noticing, Legolas spoke.

"The falls have called you to them also, Master Dwarf".

Gimli blinked, a softer expression on his swarthy face, "They keep my skin cool, Elf, and the air near them is not so unlike that in Moria, where my cousin Balin dwells in the great halls of the Dwarves".

Legolas briefly smiled, "You think of home often, Gimli son of Gloín?"

The dwarf pondered this, stroking his wiry beard, "It is true, Master Elf, that the silent halls of Moria have often crossed my thoughts. Ah, Elf, if only you could see the Glittering Caves with their walls studded with thousands of precious stones and see the great halls with their roofs reaching towards the heavens with arms of stone, it would be a sight to rival all the woodlands of Rivendell and Mirkwood that you sing so often of".

The tall elf looked at him in surprise.

"I did not think you understood the words of my song, Master Dwarf".

The dwarf harrumphed again.

"Aragorn told me of their meaning when we last spoke. They were beautiful words, Master Elf, I will grant you that".

Legolas smiled.

"You are also not bereft of fair speech, Master Dwarf. Your telling of Moria makes me all the more anxious to see these great halls when there is peace and we can roam the lands free from fear".

Gimli smiled uncertainly back, unsure of how to take this compliment, one from the lips of an Elf, no less. He adjusted his position on the ground and cleared his throat.

"Let us watch the falls then, Master Elf, and think of home".

Legolas nodded, and the two sat, still the same distance apart, but all the closer for their conversation.

•••••••


	4. Chapter 4

Meanwhile, Boromir paced the paths of the gardens in a state of unrest. Little did he know that Lasmenel had also spent the night awake, lying on her side gazing at the night sky and thinking of his face when she had tried to sleep. He was about to resume his planned walk back to the house to find Aragorn when his ears caught the whistle of a blade cutting through the air. Pacing up the slight rise in the land he breached the small hill to find Lasmenel in a small clearing, oblivious to his approach. She swayed constantly, her eyes closed, the blade of her curved sword slicing the air in a dance like set of swings and thrusts, as if her grace was given to the weapon she held.

Boromir stepped closer towards her, his eyes roaming the silvery strands of her hair that brushed against her back, still wanting to smooth them with his firm hands.

In one swift movement, Lasmenel swung round to face him and brought the blade down in a cutting motion to point at his chest. 

Boromir raised his hands in a peaceable fashion, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth upwards.

Lasmenel opened her eyes.

"You should be more wary of my blade, Boromir; it is sharp".

"As sharp as your tongue?"

Lasmenel smiled knowingly and he felt his palms tingle. She lowered the sword from his chest and sheathed it quietly. She regarded him with her eyes, that travelled over his face and body in a manner that made him feel vulnerable, despite the authoritative stature he had.

"Will you spar with me, Boromir?"

Boromir looked down at the place where his sword should have been.

"Again you find me unarmed, Lasmenel".

She smiled knowingly, and walked over to the foot of a nearby tree and produced a short sword, similar to that which he carried, and threw it to him. Boromir caught it with an expert hand and examined the blade. It was surprisingly light, and the hilt was carved with Elven runes that he could not read. It was a fine sword.

Lasmenel smiled warmly at his perusal of the weapon. Boromir caught the look on her face as he glanced at her and his heart gladdened. They assumed defensive positions. Lasmenel faced the captain as they circled slowly around each other, before striking out with a sideways swipe of her sword. Boromir countered the attack with an upward manoeuvre. The blades clashed together and the two instinctively swung again, each time their blades countering the other's attack, match for match.

By the fourth round of sparring they were still even. Boromir held his sword out in front of him, his breath tearing a little with the exertion of their play. Lasmenel raised an elegant eyebrow.

"You tire so quickly, son of Gondor?", she coyly asked.

Boromir grinned.

"I wish to raise the stakes of our swordplay, Lasmenel'.

"Indeed?", she lowered her blade a little.

"I would claim a prize for succeeding", he murmured, hoping that the ardour in his voice did not show as it broke slightly.

Lasmenel lowered her gaze and peered at him from under her long lashes.

"What prize would the Captain of Gondor claim?", she asked in a low voice.

"A kiss", came the bold reply.

She thrilled to hear his choice but decided against showing this. Assuming an aggressive stance, she pointed the tip of her sword at his head.

"You would have to earn it first", she returned.

Boromir tensed into a defensive position as Lasmenel flew at him, her blade sweeping in 

circles of light as her long tresses swung around her beautiful face. He parried, fighting off her amazingly swift attacks, marvelling at the speed and ferocity of her swordplay. Fending off a low swing of her sword,Boromir ducked under its rise as the steel cut above his head, and thrusting upwards and around, swung her blade into a neutral position and pointed his at her throat as she stood.

Lasmenel looked at her feet. "It seems I underestimated your skill, son of Gondor", she admitted.

Boromir nodded and stepped closer. She looked up at him with her powerful gaze and transfixed him to the spot. Boromir tentatively reached up and held the line of her face in an admiring hand and looked at her almost reverently.

The woods were silent but for their breathing.

Boromir haltingly bent down to kiss her. He closed his eyes at the fragrance of her hair and drank in her scent like a drowning man in need of air. Lasmenel tried to read his thoughts by perusing his face with hooded eyes, and realised that he was still fighting with himself, whether to cast aside his impenetrable defences, and that this delayed his movements.

Sighing softly, she stepped back from him unwillingly and clashed the steel of her sword against his, sweeping the blade up in a circular motion away from his side.

Boromir opened his eyes, rudely awakened from his reverie.

"You tarry too long, son of Gondor", came her observation, which was swiftly followed with a lethal swipe at his chest. Boromir leapt backwards to avoid the glittering steel and thrust forwards with his short sword. Lasmenel spun as she countered the attack, sending the blade spinning out of his grasp and into the undergrowth.

She slid the tip of her blade carefully along his cheek. Boromir inwardly shuddered as the keen edge travelled along his skin, but trusted her steady hand and remained impassive until the curved tip of the sword left his face.

Lasmenel expertly manoeuvred her sword, drawing a perfect horizontal figure of eight in front of her before replacing the blade in its scabbard.

She faced him silently, a whisper of a breeze stirring her long tresses slightly.

"I would have you cast off your warrior's pride, if for one moment, Boromir, if it meant that I could glimpse the man beneath the stern brow and grim appearance. It seems I overestimated your willingness to reveal your true feelings".

Her words pricked his pride. Boromir walked away and retrieved the sword she had relieved him of. Approaching her with a purposeful stride, he smote the earth with the blade, stabbing it downwards into the ground halfway to its hilt. Drawing up to her, Boromir stood a fraction away from her and placed a confident hand on her shoulder, feeling the shape of her under the soft fabric of her gown. Lasmenel looked at his hand on her shoulder and returned her gaze to his, daring him to continue.

He reached for the belt that held her sword and roughly undid it with a tugging motion, the blade thudding to the ground. Boromir grasped her waist firmly with a strong arm.

Boromir leant down for her mouth and trembled as his lips grazed hers, soft and pliant. He gathered his courage and pressed his mouth to hers firmly but with a gentleness he did not know he possessed. Lasmenel reached a hand up to frame the back of his head, her fingers running through the hair that swung by his cheekbones, a low growl smouldering in his throat.

Boromir pulled her closer so that they were touching. He felt the ground beneath him sway as Lasmenel drew him to her, drowning in the slow burning of their mouths fusing together as they tasted each other. A feeling of warmth came over him, and spread again and again as he kissed her. He yielded to it and plundered her mouth with his, his tongue expertly probing its depths, skilfully lathing his tongue over hers. Her hands were at his chest now, and he shivered as they travelled fleetingly over the skin that his tunic did not cover.

Lasmenel felt him tremble and suddenly that aching feeling she had been experiencing fluctuated, melting away and returning again as she kissed the warrior, the man, feeling him yield to the kiss. Possessively they grappled at each others' clothes.

They drew away momentarily, his face so close to hers yet not touching it. Their mouths brushed against each other again. Boromir sighed as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Lasmenel stroked his wounded cheek as she stared into his eyes as they wavered, unsure of whether to meet her gaze or look away.

"Are you satisfied with the reward for your efforts?" she whispered slyly, her breath caressing his seared lips, his mouth almost snarling with want.

"-Yes", came his reply, his voice low and husky.

Lasmenel stroked the faint scar on his cheek once more and walked slowly away, still unwilling to leave him again, but knowing that if she did not he would never leave Rivendell, he would not protect the Ringbearer on his perilous journey. The Fellowship was made of the Nine. There could not be one left behind, even through his own choice. She closed her eyes and lowered her head at the thought of Boromir's departure. Then, drawing on her resolve, she turned to face him before she left.

"You must decide what it is that you want, son of Gondor. I am no unknowing and naïve child to be weaned on the half fulfilled wishes of others. I am not to be trifled with. Therefore I must leave you to your thoughts, but be swift in your decision, for I will not wait forever, despite the depth of my feelings".

The depth of her feelings. The simple sentence rang, bell-like in Boromir's head. Did Lasmenel want him as much as he did her? Was it possible? She, fearless and beautiful sword maiden, fair almost beyond his comprehension loved him? These questions and a hundred others swamped his head and blurred his vision as he watched her tread silently away, out of the clearing, down the hill and out of sight.

She was wondrous fair. And for one who had lived among such fair folk as the Elves to choose to touch him, only a mortal man, when any of the immortal folk would be more than an equal partner for her, was ludicrous, incredible. Pondering her life among the Elves made him think of Legolas. A twinge of jealousy rose up in him when he remembered the tall Elf telling him of Lasmenel. He seemed to know so much about her, while he himself knew almost nothing. Boromir strode off to find Legolas, intent to know if he had a rival for the - and he drew his breath sharply at the thought - the love of his sword maiden. 

The man brushed through the low growing shrubbery and emerged onto the crisp lawns.


	5. Chapter 5

"Mithrandir, I will be in need of your leadership and guidance again".

The wizard looked up, amused at his young companion. He blew a series of perfect smoke rings before answering.

"Aragorn, you have no need of any assistance in terms of leadership skills-those you have had all your life".

"That may be so, but I am still glad of your presence on this journey, Mithrandir".

Gandalf chuckled at the respect in the man's voice. Since they had arrived in Rivendell, Aragorn had slipped into addressing him by the name the Elves gave him, and a tone of reverence and admiration was noticeable whenever he uttered it. The wizard looked kindly at the lean figure of the Ranger sitting opposite him. They had often sat like this, many times over the long years, and the man had gained much knowledge, patience and wisdom from their companionship. Gandalf had noted that already Aragorn had the bearing and demeanour of a just and rightful king. So it should be, he thought, for the lands are in need of a wise and honourable ruler, a man to unify all men. Aragorn was such a man.

The wizard rubbed a friendly hand on the Ranger's muscular shoulder, leaning back into the chair to continue smoking his long pipe while they conversed.

"I will always be there to advise and help you, my friend, even if I am not present, you must know that I am with you in spirit and mind".

Aragorn looked at the old face of his friend with gratitude. It had never ceased to amaze him how the wizard was still as hale as one in the prime of youth, despite his ancient body and slightly stooped frame. He could not begin to imagine the weight of Gandalf's responsibilities, the worry and toil of many, many lifetimes. However, he shared in the dead weight of their joint burden; to lead those with them to safety and to victory. He leant forward , allowing the wizard to light his pipe for him before relaxing back into the arms of the chair, reluctantly loosening his tense frame and musing of a time that seemed long ago, when he did not have the cares that he carried now.

From Gandalf's throat came a sound of appreciation.

"This is indeed excellent pipe-weed. I must congratulate Merry on his taste and his ample stock".

The quiet room rang with the sound of their laughter.

•••••••

Legolas felt the evening approaching as the skies stole a soft violet veil over their expanse. He had spent the afternoon conversing, he thought with a disbelieving smile, with, of all things, a Dwarf. Gimli and he had discovered their mutual love of adventure and challenge, along with their sincere, if grudging, admiration for the other race's mastery of certain skills, not least the forming of beautiful things. The Dwarf had quietly admired the fine carving on the small knife that Legolas carried in the top of his boot, a gift from his father, and he in turn had gazed in wonder at the small band of mithril that Gimli wore under his tunic, around the wrist of his stronger axe arm.

Legolas smiled happily. It had been another idyllic day, and one with many surprises. He thought of the reaction of his brethren if they had found him sitting comfortably with a dwarf overlooking the falls, sharing memories and experiences shyly at first, but then with a gradual freedom. 

Perhaps this situation of Elf and Dwarf remaining in close quarters would not be as antagonistic as he had expected.

The Elf closed his fine dark eyes in contentment and hummed a few strands of music he had set to Bilbo and Aragorn's song of Eärendil the Mariner. His melodious hum resonated in the stillness of the evening air. He turned his head towards the stairs without opening his eyes and addressed his visitor.

"You are restless again, son of Gondor".

Boromir looked abashed. He cleared his throat gruffly.

"I did not mean to intrude on your song, Legolas".

The Elf beamed pleasantly, and lightly leapt off the rail he had been perched elegantly on. 

"Ah, I see that a lady has brought you here to me. Though it would seem more usual for you to remain in her company, not mine", he jokingly observed.

Boromir noted the Elf's face as he smiled. There was no doubting that Legolas Greenleaf was one of the most fair of the immortal folk he had seen. A striking face, dark thinking eyes, luxurious hair and the tall stature of his people; in short, a perfect being. Boromir winced at his own inadequacy. There was no competing against an immortal, particularly one so fair and of such high lineage. He had heard that Legolas too was a prince among his people, and this did not surprise him. Legolas was an Elf. And he was only a man.

"I am facing a - a strange dilemma, Legolas".

The Elf blinked, not understanding.

"What dilemma is this, Captain of Gondor, that you cannot face?"

Boromir shifted his feet uncomfortably, not sure of how to begin.

"The Lady Lasmenel-" he began before stopping to clear his throat.

"Ah", the Elf exclaimed in realisation, "you are in love with her".

Boromir looked up in surprise at the accuracy of Legolas' guess.

"Is it so plain to the eye?"

Legolas smiled, "To mine, yes, for I can see for many miles into the distance. And yet it does not take the eyes of an immortal to see that you love the lady you speak of".

Boromir nearly blushed in embarrassment. He had had no idea that his emotions were so visible.

"I am at a loss, Legolas. This has never happened to me, for all my experience. I find myself unable to yield completely to her, to cast aside my defences for more than a passing moment. I am in darkness without her. Am I so weak a Man that I cannot _stop_ fighting, not even for her?"

The look of despair and frustration on the man's face moved the Elf. He placed a firm hand on the man's shoulder and spoke encouragingly.

"Boromir, if you love Lasmenel, you will lay down your sword yourself, without any assistance from others. If you love her, you will find the words to say and, if you allow yourself to do so, you will cast aside your battle familiar self and show her the man she so plainly wants to love. If she returns your love, then she will lead you out of darkness and walk with you in the light. And most of all, Boromir", and here the Elf smilingly dropped his hand and resumed his perch on the railing, "if you love her, you will not come to _me_ with your words of love and a look of one who has spent too much time gazing at the moon, but go to your maiden and tell her of your choice. No doubt she will give you a warmer reception than I", he dryly added.

Boromir straightened at this and, casting a look of thanks back over his shoulder at the Elf, strode quickly away to find Lasmenel, his heart racing as he felt the enormity of what he would admit to her.

Legolas smiled to himself. The lives of Men were brief, too brief to waste the time they had 

living without another's love. He himself had all the ages of the world to find his own, and even he did not wish to waste a single moment once he had found love. He turned once more to the evening sky and hummed another strand of his haunting melody.


	6. Chapter 6

Lasmenel stepped quietly into the doorway of Elrond's library. She espied the Elven lord reclined in a large chair in one corner of the room, a large volume in his lap. His grey eyes flickered up and acknowledged her presence.

Lasmenel approached him, lowering her head respectfully into a gesture of obeisance.

Elrond rose slowly and slid the volume onto the table next to them.

"You know why I have called you here, Lasmenel?"

She felt her cheeks burning in the profound and wise gaze of his eyes. She felt humble around him, the great Elven lord, ages, almost an eternity older than she was.

"Yes, Lord Elrond".

The Elf smiled, a rare sight that lifted the contours of his otherwise serious and thoughtful face. He walked over to the large ornate window of the library and leaned on the sill, his head tilted to the sky.

"_A Elbereth Gilthoniel_", he said reverently.

Lasmenel joined him at the window, a curious look on her face. Elrond turned to her.

"Lasmenel, that is what you are to Boromir. You are his star, the light that shines on his darkness. It seems that your name befits your place in his heart, leaf green haven of the stars".

Lasmenel blushed.

"But this you already know", the Elven lord continued, "yet it falls to you to choose whether to continue loving him or not".

A cold chill gripped Lasmenel's heart in icy hands at the ominous words. She swallowed painfully.

"I love him, Lord Elrond".

The dark Elf smiled thinly.

"I know this, daughter of Ithiluin. It shines around you like a glow, and when he has been near you the same light shines around Boromir. But Boromir must leave Rivendell with the Fellowship. It is his fate to journey with them as far as his road takes him".

Lasmenel looked up sharply.

"His road is not the same as the others?"

Elrond walked away from the window and stood, his hands leaning on the table.

"No. He is only a man, Lasmenel. He has the weaknesses of his people. The Ring will call to him, and he will be tempted to hurt those near him to answer that call. He mays endanger the Ringbearer".

Lasmenel closed her beautiful eyes to stop the flow of tears she felt welling up.

Elrond noticed her pain and it hurt him to see her so troubled.

"Have faith, daughter of Ithiluin. Though he may be tempted, he will repent of any misdeeds and defend the lives of the other Halflings, even if only by the sacrifice of his own. You know his heart, and the truth of this ".

Lasmenel opened her eyes, wet and glistening like the leaves of Telperion would have appeared if bathed in summer rain.

"If he remains here, their lives will be unprotected, Lasmenel. You have chosen to love him. Now you must choose whether or not to let him go".

"I cannot forget my feelings so quickly, Lord Elrond", she whispered.

Elrond smiled comfortingly.

"I do not ask you to _stop_ loving him, Lasmenel. Wherever he goes your love will be with him, whether fate would have it or not. Yet Boromir must leave Rivendell, and you cannot go with him".

She nodded bravely.

The Elven-lord placed a reassuring hand on hers.

"These are sad times when we have to leave those we love in order to help them. Let us hope that the Ring will be destroyed, and these years of fear and suspicion will finally come to an end".

Lasmenel stared at him valiantly.

"Then we shall come out of darkness and walk in the light".

Elrond nodded, "There is already one who walks in such light".

She knew that he spoke of Boromir and her resolve wavered.

"What light is that?"

Elrond pointed at her striking green eyes with a bemused grin.

"The light of Telperion, of course".

Lasmenel lowered her head again in respect before walking quickly out of the library. Elrond watched her go with a bittersweet feeling in his heart. He sat down heavily at the table and continued with the volume he had been reading. The grin on his face faded as he considered the fate of the Fellowship and indeed of his own people.

The ponderous look on his face intensified, touched by sadness.

He would have to depart from the West eventually, leave behind those near to him.

Yet he would be united with Celebrían again, beyond the Grey Havens, and see her smiling face greet him. Such a sight would be worth all the troubles he had dealt with in his long years. Then perhaps would both their wounds heal. 

Elrond put aside his own feelings again, as he had done many times in all his long years, and turned the page.


	7. Chapter 7

Boromir's pace had quickened until he found himself almost running to the other side of the house of Elrond to find Lasmenel.

He bounded up the stairs from the lawn that ended at the porch in front of the rooms he knew were kept by Lasmenel. The evening was suddenly hushed as he looked around, wary of any unwanted attention. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, slightly damp from the exertion of his swift journey. He realised that he was trembling, a wave of anticipation and hope spreading through him, almost that which he felt before battle.

He stepped towards the door and knocked softly on the smooth wood surface.

There was no answer.

He knocked again and stepped back. Perhaps she was in the gardens, walking under the trees that she loved so much. He cast a wondering look in their direction. A light breeze whispered in the uppermost leaves of their canopy. Boromir cleared his throat uneasily.

"My lady". "Lasmenel".

He cast another backwards look at the gardens, silent and deep. 

The door opened quietly without him realising.

He turned back to it. His sharp intake of breath tore the heady atmosphere.

Lasmenel stepped forward, a shimmering column in the dim light.

She was clothed in a long gown of a silver, silken fabric, that tapered into long slits of cloth around her wrists and waved at the floor. The gown revealed the clearness of her alabaster throat, and the contour of her shoulders dipped under the sleek material, the gown shot through with tiny bead like glittering droplets that flowed like a waterfall down her serpentine frame, rippling with lighted glints of silver and crystal.

Her eyes held the light of Telperion, piercing the night with their green depths.

Boromir stepped forward and clasped her hands in his own roughened fingers.

"My lady", he repeated in a hushed voice.

Lasmenel looked straight into his eyes.

"Have you made your choice?" she murmured in a low but clear voice.

Boromir swallowed.

"I have, my lady".

Lasmenel pressed his hand firmly.

"I too have made a choice this night".

Boromir looked down at her hands in his before raising his eyes to hers, almost pained by the light that shone from them.

Lasmenel slipped a hand from his grasp and smoothed his furrowed brow with her thumb and forefinger. Under her sure touch Boromir felt almost ashamed. She was radiant in the darkness and he was not even sure he was fit to speak to her at that moment. He was painfully aware of the uneven line of his tunic and the dampness that the run to her door had left in his hair and on his brow.

Lasmenel smiled, as if she could hear his thoughts.

"Fear not, son of Gondor. You are at your most fair to look upon this moment".

He blinked incredulously.

"_I_, my lady?"

Lasmenel smoothed his hair back from his face deftly.

"Yes, Boromir".

He protested uncertainly, "I do not have the kingly bearing of Aragorn, nor the princely or unmarked appearance of Legolas, perhaps not even the courage of the little one, Frodo, Lasmenel; and yet you call me fair to look upon-"

Lasmenel cut his speech off by drawing him to her so that their lips were touching.

"Fair and noble, I name you, Boromir. But it is not because of this, but your gentle ardour _and_ your rough manner that I love you, Dearheart", she murmured against his mouth.

Boromir felt as if he was that moment made king of all the lands in Middle-Earth. He nearly gaped in amazement at her words and her confession of her love for him.

Lasmenel drew back, and smiled mock mischievously.

"You wish to tarry a while, son of Gondor?"

Boromir nearly stumbled over his words in his haste, grinning as he replied.

"I will tarry no longer, my lady".

He bent down, no longer haltingly, and kissed her tenderly, yet with a passion that took both their breaths away. Boromir slowly ran his hand to her shoulder and pulled her nearer to him, pressing her abruptly to his chest, delighting when she welcomed this rough treatment. Lasmenel kissed him with an equal urging, her hand nimbly looping around the belt at his waist and pressing him to her, gasping a little at the all consuming heat

of his mouth on hers, their bodies moulded together. Boromir let his hand travel to her slender waist as he tasted her, probing deeper into her mouth. Yet Lasmenel did not give in to his kiss so easily. In the midst of their duel like kiss she responded with an intense fervour that almost surpassed his own.

The very floor seemed to shift beneath his feet. Boromir moaned softly, trailing his lips down over her luminous throat and her smooth shoulder, pulling back a little the fabric of her gown. Lasmenel felt the smooth ridges of his teeth run over her skin pleasantly.

Then he dropped gradually onto his knee before her. Taking her hand in his while still grasping her waist with the other, he brought it to his lips and paid it tribute, sighing as he did so.

"Forgive me, I forget myself".

Lasmenel's face grew serious. She leant down, and, hooking an arm under his, lifted him up, brought him level with her. 

"There is nothing to forgive, Boromir".

At the look of yearning in his face she smiled beautifully, "And you were content to only _walk_ with me under the stars".

Lasmenel kissed him again, so ardently that it momentarily robbed him of the power of speech, so caught up was he in the irresistible taste of her.

When her lips left his he found the words to say.

"I would love you, my lady, I would have you by my side always, under the light of the trees and the stars. Though of these I would be oblivious, for I would be standing in the light of Telperion".

Lasmenel's eyes widened in surprise.

"You know the tale of my namesake?"

Boromir smiled sheepishly, "Lord Elrond's library is well stocked".

She smiled knowingly.

They kissed again, now more frantically. Boromir's wavering eyes were suddenly filled with an intense longing and a predatory gleam.

The murmuring of the trees rose as the two warriors withdrew into the quiet dark of the room and yielded to one another.


	8. Chapter 8

Legolas and Gandalf stood watching the sun climb above the horizon, its rays striking out at the fluttering leaves and painting the sky with a golden glow.

"It is another beautiful day", the Elf murmured.

Gandalf nodded in agreement.

"Beauty can be found even in the darkest times, Prince of Mirkwood".

Legolas turned to his companion.

"That is very true, Mithrandir".

Gandalf raised a silvered eyebrow.

"Do you speak of yourself, Legolas?"

The Elf grinned knowingly.

"No, not of myself, but of one who is fast approaching us".

Gandalf glanced over Legolas' shoulder at the figure of Boromir walking along the grass parallel to where they stood.

"Good morning, son of Gondor", Gandalf intoned, "Legolas and I were just discussing something and wondered if you too had found beauty in Rivendell".

Legolas turned to the man expectantly, a smile teasing his mouth.

Boromir lifted his head up, and a strange and almost unearthly light shone from his face, his green eyes appearing more emboldened and certain in the morning light.

"Beyond words", came his low reply, and with that he continued walking on across the lawns with the look of a man who is seeing something for the first time, perhaps seeing the world around him in a new light.

Gandalf's eyes twinkled in recognition.

Legolas watched the man go.

The Elf turned back to the wizard with a searching look.

Gandalf's face took on a look of acute sadness and for a moment Legolas beheld the weariness of his long years.

"It is sad to depart from such a place where one has found happiness, Legolas. In my time on Middle-Earth I have born witness to many departures, many farewells, many that I did not have the power nor the right to prevent".

Legolas looked concerned, his smooth brow furrowing.

"You have been a guardian, Mithrandir, an infinite help to our people and to many others. Without your leadership, your wisdom and guidance we would have fallen into darkness long ago. Your arrival from the West heralded a new hope in a land torn by war and fear, and it is the tireless work of you and others like you that have ensured that at least some of the fair lands are kept free from evil".

Gandalf chuckled merrily at the insistent look on the Elf's ageless face.

"Thank you, Legolas; your words are comforting to old ears. There is still hope for the peoples of Middle-Earth while such comrades and kin unite in courage and faith to bring about the destruction on the Ring."

The wizard turned to the sun, now higher in the morning sky, the mist gradually clearing, leaving dew droplets on the green grass that shone like the crystals of the mine.

"Yet it is good to depart after knowing such happiness, for without the knowledge of friendship and love we are but empty vessels. My heart is glad for Boromir, though it feels the sadness of what may come".

The wizard turned away from the sun, and straightened, his aged frame taking on a rejuvenated and strong stance. Legolas was aware of the goodness in the wizard's face, looking for all the world like an aged and wise king, so noble was his bearing.

"Frodo grows stronger. It will not be long before he will be able to leave Rivendell".

Gandalf nodded, "Hobbits are marvellous creatures. They possess a hardiness not often found in men twice their size".

The sound of the rushing falls became audible above the birdsong.

"We will leave in a day or so, Legolas. Let us enjoy the beauty around us for as long as we are able".

With this the two descended the low steps and strolled towards the courtyard, a few golden leaves falling to the ground at their feet.

•••••••

The party gathered near the gates of Rivendell, making last adjustments to the provisions that they would carry with them. Frodo emerged from the house, Sam at his side carrying a hefty pack on his small but tough shoulders, ever watchful of his master's step, his eyes never leaving his friend's face, aware of every move Frodo made. 

Frodo absentmindedly fingered the chain that held the Ring about his neck.

They descended down the steps to join the rest of the company. Aragorn looked fondly at the small figures as they drew near, and looked to Gandalf seeing the same expression of attachment in the wizard's ancient face.

Aragorn gazed back towards the house where he knew Arwen would retreat. He sighed as he studied her infinite beauty, how she had bound herself to him, forsaking the immortal life of her people. Her sacrifice was proof enough of the love she had for him, and his heart ached. He dropped his gaze and secured the scabbard that held his sword, fastening the leather ties and patting the weapon's hilt to confirm its secure place at his side.

Boromir rode up slowly on his steed, and the change in him was apparent. His gaze was more steady, his bearing now one of a man more sure of himself, his eyes less wavering. He glanced back at the house a few times with a look of yearning on his proud face.

Aragorn noticed this and stepped up to him, placing a soothing hand on the horse's neck.

"We have time, Boromir. Go to her. We will wait for your return".

Boromir looked gratefully at the Ranger's lean face, and lowered his head, partly in surprise at Aragorn's knowledge, but also in thanks . He turned his steed around and rode back to the house.

Galloping over the quiet lawns, he reached the beginnings of the gardens and dismounted, leading his steed into the trees with him.

He came upon Lasmenel standing beneath an overhanging tree, the very one under which they had first met.

"My lady".

"Boromir".

He bid the horse still and walked to her, a predatory stalk to his approach.

"The departure of the Fellowship has come", he said in a voice heavy with emotion.

Lasmenel smiled bravely and drew him into her embrace. They stood like this, in silence, wrapped in each other's arms and the trees hushed around them, a few leaves floating to the ground.

Boromir buried his face in her neck, drawing in the scent of her hair and her skin as if for the last time. Lasmenel ran her smooth hands up the contours of his back and up to his face, brushing back the wayward locks that were shorn about his cheekbones.

"I will remain here. You have only to ask", he whispered into her ear.

Lasmenel closed her eyes painfully and led his face to hers.

"I would have you go, son of Gondor. My love is with you, wherever your quest takes you. I pray you remember that".

Boromir held her cheek to his, repressing the hot tears that he knew he should, and would not let fall, a knot drawing in his throat.

"I will return to you, Lasmenel, I swear. I would bind you to me for all the years of our lives", he said in a choked voice.

They kissed for the final time, clinging desperately to each other, neither willing to let go.

Lasmenel remembered her duty and released him from her arms. She smiled tenderly at him, her eyes shining with love for the man of the South.

"And we will walk together under the light of the trees", she said as she had before, in a time that seemed an eternity ago.

Boromir clasped her hand to his heart. She waited until the pounding beneath his chest slowed a little and became more controlled.

"Farewell, Boromir. Fulfil your fate and return to me, for I will be waiting for you, until you come back".

"So it is you who will tarry this time?", he weakly joked, the slight tension in his face belying his true feelings.

Lasmenel smiled, "It seems we have changed places, Boromir".

Boromir kissed her again and pressed her to him, their brows touching, their hands framing the other's face. He stepped back and made to move away.

"Boromir".

The warrior turned back to her, daring her to ask him anything, but quietly hoping she'd ask him to stay.

Lasmenel gestured towards his horse, still standing by a tree.

Boromir smiled roguishly.

"Keep him. Such a warrior should not be without a steed".

Lasmenel nodded in acceptance.

"And Gondor should not be without such a woman", he hinted.

Lasmenel smiled coyly, "Do you speak for all of Gondor when you say that?

Boromir nodded seriously, "I do".

Lasmenel repressed the raw feeling in her heart, "Then how could I refuse such a people?"

"Goodbye, Lasmenel".

"Farewell Boromir, _melamin_".

He strode away from her, knowing that if he looked back he would never leave. Her movement, however, made him stop, though he did not face her. Lasmenel stood, her green eyes glittering at him. The unspoken question echoed in his mind.

"I am always in your light, Lasmenel", he replied.

Then he walked away from her, across the lawns and rejoined the company. They greeted him with friendly smiles and nods. Then Gandalf placed his hands on Frodo's young shoulders and bade him lead the way out of the gates, and onto the path to Mordor.

•••••••


	9. Epilogue

When the second arrow had pierced him it had stolen his breath. Suddenly the woods were blocked from his vision and all he saw for a brief second were Lasmenel's eyes as she had finally yielded beneath him. His pain was forgotten. Still in the throes of death he swung his sword and, roaring, slew the foes gathering around him while Merry and Pippin remained almost defenceless near where he was crouched.

Boromir cried out fiercely, the heat of battle stealing over him, thrusting his blade deep into the bodies of the enemies that attacked him.

His heart pounded.

_Lasmenel's mouth on his, soft and yet powerful._

He swung his blade again and again to defend the hobbits. The arrows protruded from his chest at sharp angles.

When another impaled him he dropped to his knees, gasping for air.

The Uruk-hai stood some feet away and growled as it drew its quiver back, preparing to fire at him again.

Boromir opened his eyes to face the inevitable. Time became caught in a web.

_Lasmenel crying out for him, her hands running through his hair, urging him on. _

He faintly recognised Aragorn throwing his opponent away from him. He heard the clash of steel as they fought. He fell back, back onto the leaf strewn ground. He stared at the tree above him.

_Lasmenel stroking the faint scar on his cheek; close, so close to him now._

I'm sorry Lasmenel, he thought. I have failed you.

He felt the Ranger above him and words sprang from his mouth, now pledging his allegiance to the rightful king of Gondor.

Then it was as if Aragorn melted away, and Boromir could see the canopy of the trees again, dappled pools of light revealed across his face as their branches swayed in the breeze.

_Lasmenel's light shone around him as he stood in the path of her eyes, green and brilliant._

The darkness around him faded, and it seemed as if she was with him, her long tresses about his throat, his face in her neck, holding her close to him, his lips to hers.

Aragorn rose sadly, a tear running down his battle weary and begrimed face. Legolas and Gimli ran up, the emotion and grief painted on both their faces.

Boromir lay peacefully, his sword in his grasp under the shade of the tree. A brief ray of silvery light shone down on his proud face through the green leaves, still and unfurrowed in death, the grim line of his jaw relaxed into an expression of peace.

_"I will be waiting for you, I will tarry here until you come back"._

Lasmenel felt the world grow cold around her. Walking to Elrond's room she paused in the doorway, looking in on the dark Elf as he sat, quietly thinking, in his chair. She felt the dead weight of loss gnawing at her soul, and knew Boromir was gone. He would never to return to Rivendell. They would not walk under the trees again. She looked at Elrond.

"You have the gift of foresight. What do I go to do?"

Elrond looked up at her and saw the light in her eyes grow dim.

"You go to him, Lasmenel. You go to leave this place; I can see it in your eyes".

Lasmenel nodded, her words catching in her throat.

"I was told once that Gondor needed me. Farewell, Lord Elrond".

The Elven lord gazed at her with a resigned sadness creeping over his stern features.

"_Namarïe_, Lasmenel Calengil".

She left the silent house and walked out into the gardens towards where the horse was tied, grazing contentedly by one of the trees. The air suddenly seemed empty and desolate. Lasmenel untied the steed and mounted slowly, for there was no need for haste.

She rode through the gardens and into the deep dark woods surrounding Rivendell.

_"I would bind you to me for all the years of our lives"._

Lasmenel rode out until she reached the protective waters that lay on the borders of Imladris. Dismounting, she left the horse by the waterside. The late summer rains had left the normally calm waters heavy and swollen with their fall. She watched the waves rush in graceful abandon and flow in strong currents before her.

_"From each of his countless flowers a dew of silver light was ever falling"._

So it was now with Lasmenel's eyes. They filled with tears, tears as pure and glistening as the dew that had fallen continuously from Telperion's leaves, streaming down her beautiful face in warm trickles that appeared filled with silver light. She stepped confidently into the waters, feeling the power of the undercurrents; sword maiden of Imladris she did not blanche in fear. Her cloak spread out on the surface of the water behind her.

Lasmenel walked slowly into the water, the waves rising about her waist, fresh and cold. She waded out to the centre of the flow and stood, her feet barely maintaining hold on the shingle beneath them in the boisterous undercurrents.

They laid Boromir, son of Denethor in a small barge, his sword and shield close to him. The horn of Gondor they kept, though it was useless, having been cloven in two. With heavy hearts, the three companions set the barge out onto the waters and watched it drift out of sight. As they walked back into the forest the barge continued its journey, swiftly travelling to the edge of the mighty falls and passing over the brink into the rushing tide and the cool foam.

She did not close her eyes as the waves rose about her shoulders and then to her neck. Then, she submerged herself beneath the surface of the rushing flow, her eyes still open and now brilliant as they had been before.

Like two shining emeralds they glimmered beneath the waves as if caught in an unseen beam of silver light.

_Boromir, I am coming._

The waters increased in girth, the waves reaching perilous heights, and Lasmenel was carried along with them, willing them on, faster and faster as their cloying wet force filled her lungs and eyes, her tears like star spray on the tips of the foam. Then a sudden, inexplicable power caused the waters to climb to new heights, the white horses crashing over the shingle and the ground in frightening waves.

When they subsided Lasmenel was gone, and the fair sword maiden of Imladris, oft called Calengil by the Elves was seen no more in Middle - Earth, nor was her body ever found; for it was not known where the sacred waters had taken her.

No more was the light of Telperion seen on Middle - Earth, yet upon the crowning of King Elessar, in the gardens of his kingdom grew a seedling from Nimloth, a white tree in the heart of the city. Its light was not so powerful as the eldest of trees, yet there was something in its radiance of Lasmenel's hair, its glimmering glow like silver under sun and moonlight. And so it was that part of Lasmenel remained, to cast her light on the kin of Boromir, in the midst of the White City he loved.

Legolas walked away from the small sapling in the courtyard to join Gimli the dwarf in the continuing festivities. He lifted his wondrous voice to the skies and sang a haunting refrain as the stars came out in the heavens and shone on the branches of the white tree.

_"Telperion bore at last upon one leafless bough one great flower of silver...then for a while the world had moonlight"._

_ - Of the Sun and the Moon and the Hiding of Valinor, The Silmarillion_


End file.
